


Behind Closed Doors

by booksong



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Eavesdropping, M/M, Mindless Fluff, Sinja, even generals enjoy shenanigans, rated T for implications, this pairing is so perfect it's ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksong/pseuds/booksong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For Ja'far, it was kind of like a gauntlet."</p>
<p>A tale of obvious traps, eavesdropping shenanigans, and one very persistent king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plaidsleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidsleep/gifts).



“You’re sure about this?” Alibaba murmured, giving the back of his mentor’s head a deeply skeptical look. Sharrkan was leaning around to make sure the corridor was empty. 

“Of course I’m sure. And anyway, who are you to question your mentor? You’re supposed to keep quiet and learn from me.” Sharrkan waved a dismissive hand at him without turning around. 

“I really don’t think this is what King Sinbad had in mind when he assigned me to you…”

“Shh, if anyone asks it’s stealth training. People need to be good at that, right?”

“Why are we whispering?” Aladdin piped up at a normal volume, easing past Alibaba to try and peer around Sharrkan. The swordsman general batted him away, hissing impatiently. 

“They’ll be coming into the hall soon, so that door’s our best bet.” Sharrkan gave another quick left-right glance up and down the corridor, which was lined with ornate doors.

“You need to stop this at once,” admonished Yamuraiha in a harsh whisper, snatching at Sharrkan’s shoulder impatiently. “You are a _general_ of Sindria; this is ridiculous behavior, especially considering you’re setting this kind of example for Alibaba and Aladdin too. _Honestly._ ” 

“Oh, c’mon. Girls think this kind of thing is hot, right?” Yamu’s mouth opened in furious denial, but a red flush had crept into her cheeks. Behind the tall water mage, Pisti beamed cheekily at him and flashed a quick thumbs-up. Sharrkan grinned triumphantly at Yamu. “Hell, you could even use those little water figures to _see_ what they get up to…” 

Yamu's eyes went wide, and her voice scaled up an octave.

“I will absolutely _not_ misuse the great magical arts to—”

“Shhhh! You’re the one who followed us, so be quiet before you blow it for all of us.” 

“I am _trying_ to keep you from making an ass of yourself as usual.” The mage folded her arms huffily. “I refuse to be seen taking part in any of this.”

“Great, then don’t get seen.” 

“Hey, that was just a joke, right…?” Alibaba chuckled a little nervously. “What you said earlier about King Sinbad and Ja’far being, uh, _involved_ , or something? I mean…” He trailed off, looking like he was trying not to think too deeply about it. 

“Eh, who the hell knows?” Sharrkan didn’t seem particularly bothered one way or the other. “They might be discussing interesting things either way though; Sinbad just got back, and Ja’far’s always the one he tells all the important stuff to first.” 

“And he will tell us the ‘important stuff’ too, in due time,” Yamuraiha said, apparently in a last attempt to inject sense into the proceedings.

“And where is the fun in that?” Sharrkan asked smugly. “Oh right, it isn’t,” he answered himself before Yamu could. He turned back to peer around at the door again before she could spear him with her narrowed eyes. 

At that moment, the murmur of voices rose from the other side of the door. Yamuraiha threw her arms up in silent surrender. Pisti patted her elbow comfortingly, but she was trying to hide a grin behind one hand all the same. Aladdin pressed forward again to lean eagerly around Sharrkan, closer to the door and the voices, of which there were now distinctly two. Spartos stayed quietly toward the back, not appearing much interested, as though he had just wandered into this particular corridor by accident. And Alibaba, pushing down his own sudden doubts that this may not have the brightest idea his mentor had ever had, edged up too. 

***

For Ja’far, it was kind of like a gauntlet. 

The moment he slipped into the main hallway and shut the door behind him, and then looked up and saw the tall, broad-shouldered, robed figure of his king leaning casually against the wall about halfway down, it became like a test. 

His mind was used to working quickly, analytically, and spatially. He was an advisor, a planner, a former assassin. He could calculate things like speed, distance, and trajectory in the space of a couple breaths. 

He could outrun Sinbad, most likely, although he would look utterly ridiculous doing it. He could probably vault over him, if it came to it. He had a fair shot at dodging. There were options. 

Only they weren’t really options at all, because his arms were piled high with scrolls, things he’d been writing and rewriting and correcting and calculating all damn day, and any evasive action would require him to dump his precious work. 

Which meant he could only walk. Walking was dangerous. Walking was not really a safe or promising way to approach Sinbad in an empty corridor when he was leaning like that, looking so casual, when in reality he was nothing so much as a big cat lying in wait for unsuspecting prey.

Only Ja’far was very, very suspecting. 

He exhaled very softly through his nose and started down the hall, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. 

He managed to come almost level with Sinbad without looking his king in the eye, but when he got within a few feet Sinbad pushed off the wall lightly and eased casually into his path. Ja’far pulled the scrolls in closer to his chest, almost like a barrier, flicking a quick, assessing glance up at the other man’s face. 

It was a mistake, of course. Sinbad’s eyes were lazy and warm and knowing, and Ja’far knew it could mean nothing good if he was that sure of himself.

“Hello, Sin.” It felt like surrender already, but Ja’far stopped, unable to move easily around the figure in his path. 

“Hello Ja’far,” Sinbad returned pleasantly, tilting his head to the side and appraising Ja’far in a thoughtful way. Ja’far shifted a little under his steady gaze, feeling as though Sinbad was waiting for something. He felt his nerves tightening up, becoming hyperaware in the way they always did before a battle. Because this _was_ going to be a battle. Of a sort. 

Finally, when still no reply was forthcoming, Sinbad folded his arms. “Hm? Is that all the greeting I’m going to get? I was gone for quite a while this time; I missed you, you know.” There was nothing but gentle honesty in the admission. He reached out one hand, and although it was _possible_ he was just aiming for a friendly touch on the shoulder, Ja’far instinctively shifted back a half-step, just out of range. Instead of frowning, Sinbad’s mouth quirked up in the beginnings of one of those smiles of his. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem particularly happy to see me, all of a sudden.” 

“It’s always good to see you, Sin,” Ja’far said diplomatically, trying to keep an eye on Sinbad’s hands lest they start attempting to reach for more dangerous places. “But right now, as you can see, I need to finish up with these papers.”

“Are you implying I intend to keep you from that important duty?” Sinbad pretended to look wounded. Ja’far sighed in a way that said the answer was obvious. 

“What if I told you that you had a direct order from your king that whatever work you’re carrying is not a priority right now?” Sinbad had moved closer and was not even trying to be subtle about it. Subtlety was _not_ his strong point, Ja’far knew, and never had been. 

“Then I would be forced to assume my king must be a very foolish man who is thinking only about his own pleasure,” Ja’far said dryly.

“I’m so sorry to inform you of this--” said Sinbad, raising his eyebrows with amusement and placing his hands on Ja’far’s shoulders. They folded neatly over the curves of his shoulder blades, and Ja’far eyed them with deep, knowing suspicion. “--but I’m afraid you are working for exactly that kind of foolish king, Ja’far.” 

“More’s the pity,” Ja’far muttered, shifting the scrolls meaningfully. “Really, Sin, this isn’t—” His calm rebuff turned into a sharp, involuntary gasp of breath as Sinbad’s hands slid with shocking ease from his shoulder blades to his ribcage and down to catch on his hips. The movement was so quick and left such a tingling imprint down his sides that he had to pause to remember his train of thought. It was an unguarded moment he couldn’t afford, and Sin knew it, damn him, because he used the lapse to bridge most of the rest of the distance between them. The precariously tilting scrolls were now his last line of defense, and as much stock as he put in the paperwork he so carefully maintained each day, Ja’far knew that in this situation they weren’t going to help at all.

“Didn’t you miss me?” Sinbad’s voice had dropped to a murmur now that they were this close. Ja’far felt a faint, reflexive twinge of frustration when he felt his scrolls slip softly to the floor, but his awareness of them had faded in favor of focusing on the broad, warm press of Sinbad’s hands on his hips.

Ja’far refused to let his body yield fully, still holding himself slightly stiff, leaning away instead of against, even though he had already been forced almost onto his tiptoes to accommodate Sinbad’s hold. “I got a great deal of work done without having to worry about you,” he muttered. “It was incredibly relaxing.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Ja’far didn’t look up at Sinbad, but he knew his king was smiling, knew from the soft, affectionate breath of laughter that stroked over his neck and made heat curl in his stomach. 

“The corridors were also decidedly _safer_ ,” he huffed, realizing belatedly that his voice had gone too uneven to be convincingly irritated anymore. He felt the brush of Sinbad’s robes shifting and folding against his and knew his center of resistance was collapsing, that he had given in to the gentle but insistent pull, as Sinbad’s hands shifted from his hips to the small of his back, warm fingers on his spine. He lifted one hand and put it on Sinbad’s shoulder, and if that meant his fingers ended up threading through a few locks of silky dark hair, well that just couldn’t be helped. Then the pressure of one hand on his back disappeared, and a moment later it curled over the nape of his neck, effectively locking him in. 

Not that it made much difference, though. The moment Ja’far had taken a step down the Sinbad-occupied corridor, he’d already been thoroughly trapped, and known it. 

Ja’far couldn’t think of a single trap besides these ones that he’d ever walked into willingly. He wasn’t sure if that made him an excellent assassin or a terrible one. 

Sinbad’s warmth and breath were so close now, and Ja’far realized he had started to shiver slightly in time with his uneven breathing. _Five months,_ a voice whispered in his mind. _Five months, eight days, and about six hours he was gone._

_And I **did** miss him._

Ja’far let his eyes slip closed as he heeded the guiding tilt of Sinbad’s fingers on his throat and tipped his head back, lips parting slightly. Waiting.

He swore he could almost feel the heat of Sinbad’s mouth starting to cover his when he heard the rustle.

He froze, snapping out of his warm, foggy trance in an instant. One hand went to one of his knives instinctively, and he held perfectly still, somehow able to tune out the fact that Sinbad was still pressed up against him, head tilted down so that their foreheads almost touched. He hadn’t heard a thing, Ja’far knew; he was still caught up in the heat of it with his gold eyes half-lidded and strands of hair falling down around his face. That was okay though, because in the next moment the rustle repeated itself, accompanied by the faintest sound of an exhale, and Ja’far knew then that there wasn’t a threat to anyone’s safety, since no skilled intruder would be so careless with their breath. 

Sinbad chose that moment to try to reclaim his attention by attempting to pull him back into their previous clutch with a soft rumble of impatience. Under any other circumstances Ja’far would find it difficult to resist his king’s face as it was then, close and insistent and kind of smoldering. But the knowledge that they had an audience was now firmly at the forefront of his mind, and there was nothing Sinbad could do that would make him lose sight of decorum that badly. 

At least nothing Sinbad had tried to do _yet_.

But he knew his king would not be dissuaded by the knowledge at all if he told him someone was listening. He would probably say something nonchalant and careless and _Sinbad_ -ish, like, “Then we should entertain them.” Which meant there was only one other option to break this off in a timely fashion.

Ja’far leaned back and planted an open palm firmly in Sinbad’s face, fingers splayed. He made sure not to aim directly for the nose and keep well away from poking him in the eyes. Sinbad gave a muffled whine of surprise and disapproval as his head was directed forcibly away from Ja’far. The heat in his gold eyes had been replaced by a mixture of confusion and disappointment, but at least that meant his desire had retreated for the moment. 

“What’s wrong?” he mumbled from behind the hand, looking almost hurt as Ja’far pulled it back impatiently. “Is your work really that important? You seemed—” Sinbad broke off when Ja’far pressed a finger to his own lips and shot him a ferocious look. He tilted his head toward the door as indication, and understanding dawned in Sinbad’s eyes. As Ja’far had expected, he didn’t look particularly scandalized at the idea that they were being eavesdropped on by someone--or even many someones. 

After all these years, Ja’far knew how to move without the slightest sound, even with all the trailing folds of his robes. He crossed to the door where he’d heard the exhale and laid his ear against it, just to be sure. He didn’t have to listen hard; Sinbad had followed him over, and while he was trying to be quiet, he would never be stealthy in the same way Ja’far was. His footsteps were soft but audible, the clink of the Metal Vessels around his neck was a dead giveaway, and the sound prompted a flurry of whispering and rustling from behind the thick wood. Ja’far scowled slightly when he made out the low tones of Sharrkan’s voice murmuring rapidly in what he probably hoped was an authoritative way. 

The ornate double doors here were actually deceptively light, so he knew he could pull them open himself, and pretty quickly and dramatically too. 

He found he was almost looking forward to this. 

He glanced over at Sinbad for permission, just out of habit. The answer was already pretty plain on his King’s face; he was grinning like this was going to be the most fun he’d had in a while. Which, considering the fact that he’d just returned from a diplomatic trip to the Kou Empire of all places, probably wasn’t that far off the mark.

Still, unexpectedly nice as it was to see him so happy, Ja’far gave him a pointed look until he got the hint and schooled his features into a more solemn, disapproving expression. 

A full-scale whisper argument seemed to have broken out behind the doors now, so Ja’far allowed himself one last roll of his eyes heavenwards before he dropped his own expression into one that had served him well on many an occasion. Then he grasped the wood handles of the door, one in each hand, and pulled. 

He would never have admitted it to any of them, but the mixture of gasps and muffled yelps that broke out as the doors swung wide was oddly satisfying. 

Like an ungainly fall of dominoes, several bodies tumbled over the threshold and onto the tile, one on top of the other. The remaining faces peered around the doorframe, guilt or curiosity stamped across them. 

Ja’far was wholly unsurprised to see Sharrkan at the forefront of the pack, indicating that he’d been closest to the door, and most likely the one who’d come up with the harebrained idea in the first place. That idiot always had to be in the middle of everything; sometimes Ja’far wished he could come up with more tasks to keep him occupied, although even that might not deter him. 

The other generals though…were they really that bored? Or…that curious? It was fairly embarrassing to imagine that he and Sinbad constituted such a fascinating topic even among their closest _friends_. 

It stirred up a mixture of emotions in Ja’far, seeing all the upturned faces staring at him and Sinbad. It wasn’t all irritation, either; it was hard not to feel a flicker of affectionate amusement when he saw Alibaba sprawled back on his elbows, eyes wide with guilty horror like a kid caught stealing treats from the kitchen, and Aladdin beaming cheerfully over Pisti’s back, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. They really were just children, after all.  


But the others…they were _generals_. He wasn’t about to give them quite the same benefit of the doubt.

“Hello, everyone,” he said coolly, folding his hands into his sleeves and sneaking a very brief glance at Sinbad to make sure he wasn’t grinning or snickering and ruining the whole gravity of the scene. On the contrary, he was wearing a disapproving expression Ja’far didn’t see on him often, but which complemented the situation perfectly. You’d have to look him right in the eye to see the sparkle of amusement that he couldn’t conceal.

Everyone was attempting to smile winningly at him, but nervousness and guilt made them shaky around the edges. Except for Spartos, who was still at the doorframe, straight-faced as if he were just another observer and not a participant. 

“This is rather a lot of you for a casual stroll through the palace,” Ja’far commented, making sure his hooded gaze flicked from face to face individually. He was pretty sure Alibaba was shaking a little when he looked at him, the poor boy.

His eyes snapped over to a new source of movement in the corridor: Masrur and Morgiana were pacing down the hall side by side. Morgiana cut her eyes over briefly to the commotion, and actually missed a beat walking when her gaze landed on the ungainly, half-collapsed crowd around the door. Her mouth opened very slightly as if she were about to ask a question, but instead she turned to look up at Masrur, taking her cue from him. He had glanced over at the scene too with the barest flicker of eyes, but had almost immediately returned his gaze straight ahead, nothing changing in his stride or expression. 

For some reason Ja’far found himself slightly annoyed by that, even though it was typical of the big Fanalis warrior. “Masrur! Did you know they were out here?” he called out, though he knew it was highly doubtful Masrur and Morgiana had anything to do with this. 

Sharrkan and Alibaba’s heads whipped around, and for a moment they looked almost hopeful, perhaps believing that a ray of light had arrived, that someone would make an excuse for them or plead their case. 

Masrur had halted obediently at Ja’far’s call, and turned his cool, bland gaze on all of them. There was a moment of complete silence as he and Morgiana surveyed them all, with Mor having apparently decided he was setting a good example for how to deal with the bizarre tableau, and keeping her own face straight. 

It took much deliberation before Masrur finally said, "No idea." Morgiana gave a single nod of agreement. 

Sharrkan almost face-faulted into the stone floor with a soft groan of surrender. 

Ja’far barely resisted the urge to cover his own face with his hand, feeling that things were unlikely to get any less foolish from here. The best course of action was probably just to end this encounter as decisively as possible. He folded his hands together under his broad sleeves and tried to draw himself up, clearing his throat. 

“Get going, all of you! I’m _sure_ you have better things to do with your time right now.” Ja’far narrowed his eyes pointedly, sweeping them over the lot of them. “Or if you don’t I’m sure I could _find_ you some things—”

“Won’t be necessary!” interrupted Sharrkan, as Ja’far had known he would, scrambling to his feet. “Alibaba and I have a ton of important—uh— _stuff_ to cover in training, so you don’t need to worry about us!” The others followed suit with considerably more dignity; Yamuraiha still looked a bit flustered, but Ja’far couldn’t tell if it was from being caught doing something like eavesdropping or from what they’d been able to eavesdrop _on_. Which Ja’far very much hoped wasn’t much.

“What I don’t get,” Sinbad heard Aladdin chirp to Alibaba as the group made a scurrying retreat back down the corridor, “is why Mister Sinbad would want to do that stuff with Mister Ja’far anyway. I mean, he doesn’t even have boobs!” At that, Alibaba shot a wide-eyed, horrified look back at said king and adviser over his shoulder, grabbed the young Magi by the back of his tunic so he was practically carrying him under one arm, and broke into a run. Sinbad made sure they weren’t going to look back again before he let his face break into a grin.

“You don’t intend to do anything about that, do you?” Ja’far sighed, kneeling to collect the scrolls he’d dropped. 

“They’re just having fun. Besides, I think they’re honestly afraid of what you might do to them after this; I think they’ll probably be keeping away from you for at least a day or so.”

“What _I’ll_ do?” Ja’far straightened up with an armful of papers, perplexed. 

“Don’t play the fool; you know that scary face you give when people annoy you. The only reason it doesn’t work on me is because you use it too often.” 

“Really, though, I hope I didn’t scare Aladdin and Alibaba too badly…it’s obvious that was all Sharrkan’s idea. I don’t even want to _think_ about how he might have explained things to Aladdin…” Ja’far sighed, pressing a hand to the side of his head. Sinbad reached out on the pretense of straightening Ja’far’s keffiyeh and trailed his thumb affectionately down his temple, tracing his jawline to his throat.

Ja’far cleared his throat, meaning to make it an emphatic sound, although it came out as more of a stutter than he would have liked. “Work,” he said, rustling the scrolls softly as evidence. “It still needs to be done, and I’m guessing _you_ aren’t going to do it, even if you _have_ returned.” 

“And when are your guesses about me ever wrong?” Sinbad smiled at him, and it was so very unfair that he could make that one expression gentle and kind and amused and warm and wickedly suggestive all at once. If Ja’far had a command of all the faces that made generals and King Candidates alike go scrambling the other way, then Sinbad had a monopoly on expressions that drew you in closer to him, natural as a plant unfurling towards the sun.

Even if it was thoroughly against your better judgment and your hands and mind should be occupied by things that actually _kept the kingdom running…_

Sinbad’s fingers were still resting on the bare skin of his collarbone. “You never answered my question, you know.” His king’s voice had dropped back down to its previous soft, private level. “ _Did_ you miss me?” Inwardly, Ja’far wondered why he had bothered to pick up his scrolls at all when there was a high likelihood they were just going to end up back on the floor again.

“We’re still in public, you know,” he retorted quickly.

“Oh really? I’m not sure I’d call a hallway that you just decisively emptied _‘public’_ , Ja’far.”

Ja’far was almost disturbed by how remarkably logical that argument was. 

“And you know none of them will be coming back up here any time soon, let alone in the next—say—few hours.”

Another valid point. He was suddenly losing this conversation. Ja’far was losing and for some reason he couldn’t quite bring himself to be irritated about it. 

“Sin…” he began. That was as good a way as any to begin an excuse, a refusal, a reprimand. Sinbad’s fingers fanned out across his neck and the curve of his shoulder, and whatever he’d been going to say caught in his throat. “Sin, no. Sin, _work_ …” he attempted weakly, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of anything beyond that. 

“I think I already told you what your king’s priorities are,” Sinbad said softly, and all of that heat was back in his eyes and his smile in full force, and all Ja’far had to do was _look_ at him…and in that moment, he lost the argument.

In a sudden surge of movement he was gathered close, fiercely and decisively, Sinbad clenching his hands around fistfuls of loose fabric. Now it was not just their robes that were folding against each other from the contact, but their bodies as well, all the lines and curves and hollows that were so familiar but such a _relief_ to touch.

_Warm_ , Ja’far thought dizzily, his hands reaching out blindly for something to hold onto. _He’s so warm, and he’s safe, and **here**. He’s **home**. _

One of Sinbad’s arms wrapped around his waist, hoisting him up just enough in his enthusiasm so that Ja’far could slip his arms around his king’s neck and anchor himself there. With one smooth, effortless motion of his free hand Sinbad swept the keffiyeh off, fingers sliding into ruffled white hair, and it made Ja’far’s breath catch to feel the way Sinbad’s palm cradled his head, one thumb stroking along his temple. He leaned into the touch, eyelids slipping half-shut as Sinbad nuzzled his jaw and trailed a slow kiss down his neck. Ja’far could hear—and feel—Sinbad making a low, pleased rumbling noise in his throat, and he swore it sounded _triumphant._

“You… _honestly_ …Sin—” There didn’t seem to be enough air for him to form more than one word at a time, and as Sinbad worked his way lazily back up again—throat, pulse point, earlobe, jaw, cheekbone—using air for words in general stopped seeming important at all. And then he did find his breath, only for the heat of Sinbad’s mouth to swallow the shuddering sigh that seemed to have been coiled in his chest for five months, eight days, six hours, and now exactly forty-two minutes.

And _that_ went on for several more breathless, hazy, pleasant minutes. 

“I suppose I did miss you, Sin,” Ja’far breathed finally into the warm curve of his throat. “A little.”

“I know,” Sinbad returned, his voice a low murmur next to Ja’far’s ear. “I just like hearing you say it.”

“You—“ Ja’far had to cut off the rest of the sentence to keep himself from gasping as his back pressed against the cool stone of the wall. Sinbad’s arms and torso were just as solid against his front and sides, although much warmer; it seemed with every passing moment he was being trapped more effectively, and could no longer profess to care. He shook his head, and with a shaky murmur of resignation buried his face back into the musky heat of Sinbad’s neck and shoulder. He wound his fingers deep into the thick fall of his king’s hair and held on, allowing himself the tiniest smile, hidden against the other’s skin. 

“Welcome home, Sin.” 

In the end, Ja’far was right once again. 

The scrolls _had_ ended up back on the floor, and remained there for quite some time.

**Author's Note:**

> *This fic had two major inspirations:
> 
> [This](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=manga&illust_id=23572171) hilarious comic, which formed the backbone of the plot and which I tried to remain faithful to when writing out the scenes.
> 
> The wonderful [plaidsleep](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidsleep), my friend and fellow writer/fangirl who has dragged me into many a ship and fandom, and I was always the better (if more corrupted) for it. ;) This was for her from the beginning, and she helped pull me through every stretch of writer's block I encountered (to the point where its working title became "Finish this or plaid will kill me in my sleep," not even kidding). I probably would never have even discovered this pairing, let alone ship it with so much glee, if not for her. <3
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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